Coercion of Skies
by Aurelius Spark
Summary: *Hermione/Ron, Harry/Ginny* The Hogwarts students are invited to attend a week-long summer session at romantic Beauxbatons Academy. CHAPTER THREE: Harry has doubts . . .of an exploding nature.
1. Photographs and Letters

Coercion of Skies: A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Chapter One: Photographs and Letters

A/N: This will be a harsher look at the romantic tensions between the main characters of the Harry Potter novels and how those tensions are affected by a displaced setting and an ambiguous threat. Please note that the focus of this story will revolve mostly around the character relationships and how the plot affects them. Thank you!

The photograph had been torn down the middle. Not neatly cut by scissors or a knife, nor magically separated with a simple spell; the edges were jagged, meeting unevenly where they had been spliced together by Spellotape. The picture had been hastily ripped, maybe even in anger, then deftly repaired by a careful hand. The two boys in the picture had their arms around each other's shoulders, reaching awkwardly around the tear. Smiling broadly, wands tucked haphazardly into their cloak pockets, they waved at their visitor. To her, the black and white of the photo did little to diminish either the brilliant red hair of the boy on the left or the vivid emerald eyes of the boy on the right.

Hermione sighed at the picture, as if it represented an incantation she couldn't quite make out clearly. It was tacked to the carefully organized bulletin board hanging over her bed, surrounded by neatly-written notes and reminders and framed by a huge calendar covered with engagements and study schedules. The picture, hanging roughly on the board's edge, was the only personal item there. 

__

Well, Hermione thought, _no one has ever accused me of sentimentality, have they_?

She reached out, carefully adjusting the picture, making sure the Spellotape was holding it together properly. Then, after a last glance at it, she walked across the room and sat down at her vanity table, gently flicking on the light. The white glow of the lightbulbs revealed a spare, dusty area; the only items on the table were a brush, a hand mirror, and a practically empty-bottle of Sleek-Eazy's hair potion. Looking at the bottle, Hermione smiled, then picked up the brush and attacked her unruly hair.

__

How many months since the Yule Ball, and I still _have that bottle_? She gritted her teeth, brushing her hair more vigorously. That had been a particularly . . .memorable experience. It was the first (and last, she swore) time she had gotten dressed up for anything; really, it had been her first date, though she wouldn't call Viktor Krum much of a date. More like a well-muscled conversation piece. But the dancing had been all right, and seeing Professor Dumbledore shed dignity and whirl Professor McGonagall across the floor had been worth the effort in and of itself. Then, of course, she had that awful fight with Ron . . .

__

Ron. Harry.

She was suddenly very aware of the picture tacked up over her bed, its subjects waving ceaselessly at her like idiots.

When her mother called for her, she jumped up, startled.

"Hermione, love! We've just got a letter . . .er, owl, I should say . . .I think you should come take a look, it's from your school!"

Hermione placed the brush carefully back on the bare vanity, frowning as she peered at herself in the mirror one last time. A letter from Hogwarts at this time of year, when everyone was supposed to be enjoying their vacation, was a surprise indeed. She hoped nothing unfortunate had happened to any of her teachers. Except, perhaps, for Snape.

"I'm coming!" she yelled back. She pulled on a pair of slippers before rushing downstairs.

After she'd gone, the two boys in the picture continued waving for a moment. Then, after looking carefully around the room to make sure she'd left, they withdrew to opposite sides of the picture, staring sullenly out at the room. They didn't look at each other.

************

"Where's the letter?" Hermione asked as she came through the kitchen, pulling a boiling pot off of the stove as she did so.

Her father looked up absently from his copy of _Bicuspids Biweekly_. "What's that? Oh, the letter . . .yes, your mother has it. Fool owl nearly took my head off buzzing through here this morning. It's still here, you know; I thought they were supposed to shove off after you paid them."

"They are," Hermione said, her nose wrinkling as she threw away two blackened pieces of toast and popped two fresh slices in the toaster. "Where is it?"

"In the living room," her father answered, gesturing with the magazine. Hermione smiled slightly. When she went past him on her way to the living room, she kissed him quickly on the cheek. He grumbled something vaguely affectionate after her.

The owl, large and with great feathered tufts on his head, was perched precariously on the living room ceiling fan. Hermione's mother was flailing about, trying to get the bird down before the fan blade broke under his weight. When the owl saw Hermione, he hooted derisively, as if to say _It's about time_, then sailed down to drop something in her hands. Without so much as a backward glance, the creature sailed back through the house to the open window in the kitchen. Hermione could hear her father spluttering in consternation.

Her mother was less than amused. "Well, he was _most _rude," she said as she handed Hermione another letter. "If he had two letters to give you, he could have given _both _of them to me, I do say." Then, quick as lightning, her mood lightened, and she started humming her way back to the kitchen. "Do you want some breakfast, dear one? I'm making some toast . . ."

"No thanks, Mum," Hermione answered, clutching the letters. "I'll get a bagel later." Both were embossed with the official Hogwarts seal, but one, the one the owl had personally dropped into her hands, was marked boldly in large green letters: DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU ARE HERMIONE GRANGER. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Hermione shuddered. Considering it was Hogwarts, that was no idle threat. She opened the unmarked letter first. It read: _Dear Ms. Hermione Granger: It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected as one of an elite group of Hogwarts students who will have the opportunity this summer to attend a week-long summer session at Beauxbatons Academy in Aquitaine, France. This session will consist of several intensive seminars on focused and advanced educational magic technique, taught by some of the finest professors of magic in the world. Because of the challenging and complex concepts you will be exposed to during these seminars, the directors of the program request permission to attend from a parent or guardian. It is our hope that you will see fit to represent your school and your country in this remarkable program and strive as always to achieve the highest level of excellence possible in your activities. If you wish to attend, please send a reply by owl before June 3. Thank you once again for your hard work and dedication to Hogwarts. Signed, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress._

Blinking in disbelief, Hermione read the letter again. A summer vacation in France at Beauxbatons, learning advanced magic from prestigious teachers that might never come to Hogwarts? It sounded too good to be true. She finished the letter a second time, and wondered who else from Hogwarts had been asked to attend. She pointedly did not think of Ron or Harry.

Setting aside that letter, she opened the strangely marked second envelope. Despite the severity of the warning, the letter was extremely brief. Nonetheless, it made Hermione's jaw drop. It said simply: _Ms. Granger: I will not pretend that there is no greater purpose behind the convening of this summer program at Beauxbatons. There are things which must be seen to; the younger generations of Hogwarts must be prepared for what is to come. Unless there is an extremely pressing engagement from which you cannot escape, I must insist with all authority that you attend the session. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will be joining you. Signed, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts_.

Hermione could only stare. A personal letter from Professor Dumbledore insisting that she attend? And Harry and Ron were going, too? 

Her brain was working furiously as she took the letters upstairs to pore over them more carefully. Maybe it was just her imagination; maybe it was just the sad events of the last month at school. But to her mind, putting Harry and Ron and her in southern France for a week to learn complicated magic that it was likely none of them would master for a long time didn't sound like a positive thing.

All it sounded like was a recipe for trouble.


	2. Things Unseen, Things Unsent

Coercion of Skies: A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Chapter Two: Things Unseen, Things Unsent

A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! It brings me joy to get such positive feedback for my first Harry Potter fic! For everyone who has already reviewed the first chapter, please see the end of this chapter for personal responses!

"There's something in the bushes."

Ron looked up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a gloved hand. "What?"

Ginny gave him an exasperated look. "I _said_, Ronnie-kins, that there's something in the bushes." Shading her face from the blazing sun, she turned and pointed to the far end of the yard. "Over there."

Ron grunted, leaning over to yank a grasper-weed out of the flowerbed. "So go see what it is."

She brushed her ginger hair back from her face, freckled nose wrinkling. "It's not my day to weed the garden," she replied.

"Honestly, Ginny!" Ron stripped off his gloves and threw them down in a huff, then stalked past her. "Why don't you go help Mum instead of standing around in the yard like a useless git?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm _supervising_," she said, then flounced back into the house.

Ron rolled his eyes and walked across the yard. Ginny had been absolutely insufferable ever since they'd come home for the summer; what had just passed between them was a typical example of how they were getting on these days. For as long as Ron could remember, he and Ginny had gotten along perfectly well together. But it seemed like after school's end, maybe even as far back as the Yule Ball during the term, she had gotten something prickly under her skin. And it felt like her favorite way to make herself feel better was to take it out on him. 

His face was flushed more than usual as he crossed the yard in the sweltering heat. He'd tried to ignore her and be peaceful, but she was really starting to annoy him. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out what her problem was.

As he approached the bushes, he recalled talking to Mum about it a few weeks back. The entire family had gone into the village for an uncharacteristic night of dining out. He and Ginny wound up fighting over ice cream and pretty much spoiling the rest of the evening for everyone else. That night, Mum had asked him what exactly that was all about. 

He had no answer to give her. Ginny was just acting differently. Like she was upset. Or confused. Or mentally ill. Ron personally adhered to the last theory; he had no hope of ever understanding any woman, much less a Weasley woman. 

__

Girls are just nutters, Ron thought. _They're nutters, and that's all there is to it. Take it in, write it down, put it on a t-shirt. Completely bonkers, the lot of them. Especially Hermione . . ._

Ron stopped dead in his tracks. He was only halfway across the yard; the far hedges where Ginny said she saw something were several feet farther on. He could see the green veins of the hedge leaves shimmering behind a curtain of humidity. Yet something compelled him to be still for a moment; something triggered surprise and puzzlement in his brain that he couldn't move and deal with at the same time.

__

Hermione. The Yule Ball . . .

Shaking his head, he put a lid on those thoughts. _Dangerous place to go, Ronnie boy_, he warned himself. _You'd be better off just to stick with your philosophy. Nutters. All of them._

The bushes ahead of him rustled, but it had nothing to do with the heat. 

Muscles, speckled with freckles, suddenly tensed, and Ron started to move forward cautiously. There _was_ something in the bushes, and it looked way too big to be a gnome. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had his wand and resenting the way his mum constantly berated him for never having it handy when he needed it.

The rustling stopped as he started moving toward it, but Ron could tell that something was there; something beyond his scope of vision, something obscured by a green wall of leaves. All he had to do was pull the branches back and look. But he was worried it might be some kind of nasty creature or garden pest; without his wand, he felt vulnerable.

Still, he approached the hedge.

He was standing right next to the spot from which the rustling had come. He clenched his fists, working up his determination. _Come on, Weasley, no big deal. Just a hedge-rat or a noisgua or some harmless thing like that. Come on, just pull the branches back and scare the thing out of the hedges._

Hesitantly, Ron reached forward to pull aside the bushes. A commotion from the house startled him, and he spun. His mother was waving madly at him from the kitchen window.

"Ron!" she bellowed. "Get inside! Your father and I have to talk to you!"

He swallowed. Those were never good words in the Weasley house. 

"I'm coming!" he bellowed back. His mother gave him the tiger's eye for a moment, then withdrew back inside the window. Exhaling heavily, Ron counted to five . . .then jumped around and yanked the hedges back, yelling loudly as he did so.

There was nothing there. He had waited too long.

As he wandered back to the house, Ron wondered if there had even been anything there to begin with.

************

When Ginny heard her mother yelling for her, she ignored it at first. She was trying to write in her diary, and she hated being interrupted. But Mrs. Weasley was an implacable force, so finally Ginny was forced to mark her place and poke her head outside her door. "I'll be right there!" she yelled with a little more vehemence than was necessary, than flung herself back on her bed and took up the journal again.

Despite her traumatic experience with the diary of Tom Riddle, Ginny had been keeping a diary ever since. She found that she felt uncomfortable or unable to bring up things that concerned or confused her with her parents; she thought that raising six boys before her might have beat any girl-rearing capabilities right out of them. She didn't blame them for that, but all the same . . . it felt odd to talk about things with them, even her mother. Seeing as she had no friends that lived nearby and that there was a constant contest for the use of the family owls, Ginny's only outlet for her turmoil was the blank page. It was an escape that had almost cost her dearly once in her life; but she felt wiser and more experienced now, able to handle any challenges or questionable circumstances that might be thrown at her. She wasn't a kid anymore.

Ginny sighed, chewing furtively on a tattered quill. _If I'm not a kid anymore, then why do I feel so stupid around . . .around him? He's no-one special; just another guy, just another older guy. _

Which of course, he wasn't. He was Harry Potter. And if she hadn't given in to sympathy and said yes to Neville, she would have been Harry's date to the Yule Ball.

The injustice of it made her florid face go crimson.

Her brothers would tell her she was being childish. Her father would tell her it was a phase. Her mother would say it was girlish infatuation. So certain was she of what they would say if they knew (_if?_) of her feelings for Harry that she could almost imagine the entire conversation, word for word, inflection for inflection, with all eight members of her family. Only a blank page understood; only a blank page didn't judge.

__

But sometimes, blank pages can turn what you tell them against you.

Ginny shuddered, despite the heat of the day. For a moment, she felt a peculiar disorientation; once again, she was a wide-eyed first year student at Hogwarts, confronted with monumental academic challenges, judged and measured by boys she didn't know, befriended and dismissed by girls she never recognized. Her only friend was her diary; her only touchstone was her "hero worship" of a boy who barely spoke to her. Then the moment passed, and she was thirteen again, and a little older and wiser than she had been.

Looking up, Ginny put the journal down and went to the small nightstand tucked into a dusty corner. First looking to make sure that no one was clanging around outside in the hall, she bent over and pulled the creaky drawer open. She had to rummage for a moment to find what she was looking for.

It was a letter, carefully written in scarlet ink, on an ancient piece of parchment. It was addressed to Harry Potter; signed, Ginny Weasley.

Ginny bit her lip slightly as she sat on the edge of her bed and read it silently to herself. She had written it out more than a year ago, then shoved it in the nightstand and forgotten about it. It wasn't long, or eloquently written, and her penmanship left a lot to be desired.

But it was the truth. The truth, for some reason, seemed very appealing to her at the moment.

Her bedroom door banged upon, and Ginny dropped the letter in shock.

"Ginny Weasley!" Her mother was scowling in high bad temper. "When I call you, I expect you to behave like I raised you to and get downstairs post haste. Now let's go, young lady!"

Ginny sighed. "Coming, Mum." She followed her mother out of the room.

The letter came to rest lightly on the worn floorboards underneath Ginny's bed.

************

Ron and Ginny sat at opposite ends of the battered breakfast table, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley situated between them. It was a reverse of the usual order of such conferences; the irony wasn't lost on any of them. However, it seemed of little importance; both adults appeared on the verge of terrific excitement, even Mrs. Weasley, who five seconds earlier had been scolding both her youngest children like a banshee.

Mr. Weasley was grinning broadly. "Well, Molly dear, do you want to tell them, or shall I?"

"Tell us what?" Ron asked rudely, slouching in his chair.

"Mind your manners," Mrs. Weasley retorted, smoothing her hair. "And sit up straight." Turning to Mr. Weasley, she matched him smile for smile. "Oh, let's don't keep them in suspense, Arthur. It's just too exciting!" Both of them faced Ginny. The girl blanched slightly in surprise, but waited quietly.

"Ginny," Mr. Weasley, "we've just had a conversation with Professor Dumbledore himself. Now, we're supposed to be getting a formal letter in the mail, but he wanted to go ahead and let us know," and he beamed at his daughter, "that you've been chosen to attend the Summer Session at Beauxbatons!"

Ginny blinked. "I . . .I don't understand. Isn't Beauxbatons in France?"

Mrs. Weasley waved a hand. "Of course it is, dear. This is a kind of exchange program, a summer camp, if you will. Students from wizarding schools the world over will be attending; it's such an honor to be invited! You take all these seminars on advanced magic and practical spell application, and you also get to meet all these wonderful people and learn from these renowned professors!" Mrs. Weasley got up and came to sit beside Ginny. "And Professor Dumbledore wanted to let us know in person that you had been selected because of your excellent grades at Hogwarts. And also to . . .let us know how proud he is that you've done as well in school as you have. You've had an unusually difficult time of it, you know."

"She's not the only one, you know," Ron said somewhat bitterly from the other end of the table. "So, I'm going to this Beauxbatons thingy, too?"

"Not exactly," Mr. Weasley replied, frowning slightly. "It seems that Professor Lupin . . you remember Professor Lupin, don't you, Ron? It seems that he will be teaching several seminars during the session, and has asked Professor Dumbledore for student assistants to help him. Professor Dumbledore has requested that you be one of the assistants."

Ron was silent for a moment. "Oh," he said finally.

Mrs. Weasley rose from her place beside Ginny and began fluttering nervously back and forth. "Oh, now, Ron, I know that you might be nervous about working with Professor Lupin . . .I mean, he is a werewolf and all . . .but Professor Dumbledore has assured us that his lycanthropy is perfectly under control and of no danger to anyone . . ."

"I'm not worried about that," Ron said. "Lupin was a bloody great teacher, it'll be fun helping him out . . ."

"Don't say 'bloody,' Ronald," Mrs. Weasley interjected.

" . . .but I don't want to go if no one else I know is going to be there. Where's the fun in that?"

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said huffily, "_honestly_, Ron. The point is to make _new _friends and have _new _experiences, isn't it? And your own sister will be there . . ."

"I haven't said I'll go yet," Ginny said rather indignantly.

Mrs. Weasley made a noise of tremendous exasperation. "Well, of _course_ you're both going! Neither of you two ungrateful children seem to realize what a marvelous opportunity this is. And I'll tell you one thing more, Professor Dumbledore is paying for both of your expenses out of the Hogwarts treasury, and I'll be a mug-footed wickernap if I let you put Albus Dumbledore's charity and goodwill to waste!"

"Now, Molly, calm down," Mr. Weasley said, attempting to placate her. He turned to Ron. "Professor Dumbledore told us that Hermione has also been invited to attend the session. And Harry is to be Professor Lupin's second assistant. What do you say to that?"

Ron smiled broadly. "I say bloody brilliant." A sharp look from his mother. "I mean, brilliant. I'm in, then. At least if Harry's there, it won't be a total loss."

"Count me in as well," Ginny added quietly.

Ron smirked at her. "Awww, you only want to go 'cause _Harry_ is going to be there. You know, Ginny, why don't you just tell him you like him? Are you too afraid? I promise I won't let him make fun of you too badly."

"Ron, that is enough!" Mrs. Weasley spluttered. But she needn't have bothered; Ginny was coming to her own defense.

"Fine, Ron," she said, standing up. "But I'll make you a deal. I'll tell Harry how I feel about him when _you _tell _Hermione_ how you feel about _her_."

She stomped upstairs without saying another word. Ron grumbled for a moment, looking bewildered, then went back out to the yard, muttering something about bushes and invisible gnomes.

Mr. Weasley wore a look of complete consternation. "I don't understand. How does Ginny feel about Harry?"

Mrs. Weasley sighed and conjured a steaming mug in front of him. "Just drink your tea, Arthur."

************

Back in her room, Ginny was in a righteous fury. Afraid, was she? Lacking spine, was she? She'd show him; she'd show her rattling, mangy, annoying prat of a brother that she had more courage in her pinky finger than he had in his whole freckled body. 

It took her only a moment to find the letter, already attracting dust bunnies underneath her bed. She rolled it up tightly, tied it with a piece of spare ribbon lying about. Then, without so much as asking, she snuck up to Percy's room and attached the letter to Hermes. 

"Go to Harry, Hermes. Fly safe."

The owl looked sadly at her for a moment, as if it could sense her troubled state of mind. Then it was winging off into the fading sunlight, carrying the hope of her heart on its leg.

End of Chapter 

Extended Author's Notes: Wow! What a fun chapter to write! When I began this story, I had only a very general sense of where I wanted it to go. But from the first line of this chapter, it's starting to take a life of its own, and those are the best stories to write, because in a sense they almost write themselves. I wanted to take this space to give an extended reply to those who have been lovely enough to review the previous chapter, in the hopes that a witty reply from me might coerce them into reading the NEXT chapter ^_^. So, here goes!

CurlsofGold: It always seems like the first chapter is the hardest to write; I'm glad the beginning got off to a good start for you!

JadeStellar: I'm a big sap, too! But a word of warning; this is not fluff. It's romance, but it's not fluff. There will be romance later on (dates, hand holding, clandestine kisses), but not before it's properly set up and characterized in the context of the story. I hope you stay with the story, though; the sap can be so much more rewarding when there's been a good build-up behind it!

Hermione Starise: When I first took it into my head to write a Harry Potter fic, the thing that was foremost in my mind was originality. When I finally hit on the idea of a summer at Beauxbatons, the whole thing just kind of fell together! 

Hermandron4ever: I know the first chapter was a little confusing, but there was no concrete conflict behind the torn picture. It was a metaphor that implies Hermione is subconsciously torn between two things; that she tore the picture was simply a physical manifestation of that conflict.

Forgotten Goddess: Thanks for the praise. And as for the torn picture thing, read the above comment; I hope that clarifies things a little!

Soapbox for a generation: I'm 19, and a creative writing major at a Florida university, so I've had a LOT of practice, lol. And don't worry, your style and technique will get better with time and practice; soon, you'll be editing your chapters only once before you sling 'em out there! (Guilty note: I never actually edited the first chapter. Bad me.)

MaragaritaMocha: Originality is a plus with me, and I guess it is with you, too! Thanks for reading, and I hope you keep on reading!

Rinabina: France and romance! That's exactly what's going to happen! *goes to diligently review Goblet of Fire so he can properly write Fleur Delacour . . .

Thanks again to everyone! Chapter Three will be up in a couple of days, I hope; I have a Lit Theory paper due on Tuesday, but I might get in some work on this story before then! Until next time! 


	3. Doubts of an Exploding Nature

Coercion of Skies: A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Chapter Three: Doubts of an Exploding Nature

A/N: Thanks SOOOOOOOO much to all my lovely reviewers! You guys are fabulous! Thanks for making my first foray into the Harry Potter fandom such a joy. Just as a warning, the Harry angst took over in this chapter; I tried to keep it on a romantic track (seeing as this is _supposed_ to be a romance fic), but you know Harry, sometimes he just has to do what he wants. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. This chap was much harder to write than the last. Also, check at the end for individual dedications if you reviewed Chapter Two!

Harry Potter discovered that day that _Pride and Prejudice_ was thirty banana splits long. At least, that's how many he managed to eat while watching the movie; six hours, and all he came away with was a stomachache and a vague sense of dislike for an actor named Colin Firth.

Mrs. Figg wasn't much for the finer points of suburban living, so when she allowed Harry to have ice cream and watch a movie on the television, he was slightly confused. He might have even have offered her argument if not for the serene manner with which she gently guided him to the couch, shooed away her cats, and plopped a spoon and banana-split in front of him. As she was walking back into her kitchen, she turned and gave him a peculiar half-smile. Harry, not knowing what to do, half-smiled back. Seeming satisfied, Mrs. Figg nodded and retreated back to her crossword puzzle.

Harry, at a loss, began eating. _Pride and Prejudice_ started rolling. The day was officially booked. 

He had been staying at Mrs. Figg's for little over two weeks now. The Dursleys, anxious for a vacation, were in Scotland. Frightening images of Uncle Vernon in a kilt sprang to mind. Mrs. Figg hadn't minded taking Harry, and as the weeks wore on, Harry started to realize that he didn't mind it, either. Despite the odd smell of her house and her ever-present cats, Harry found that he was growing to like her. She had a sly sense of humor that showed itself at the oddest times and, like Ron, was phenomenally talented at wizard chess.

Harry guessed that it shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that Mrs. Figg belonged to the wizarding world; no one as weird as she was could possibly be a true Muggle. Yet even after he had spent his first year at Hogwarts, he had never made the connection. It wasn't until Dumbledore had mentioned her name after the confrontation with Fudge – "Arabella Figg" – that Harry started to put two and two together. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. He was protected by some sort of magic when with the Dursleys. But for the times when the Dursleys were not with him and he wasn't in the Muggle-crowded protections of his early schools, there had to be someone, especially when he was younger, to look out for him. Someone who knew the truth of his situation, and could act accordingly should certain needs arise.

Enter Mrs. Figg, bizarre yet benign old lady with cat coterie and cabbage-smelling cottage. As Harry spooned gooey vanilla ice cream into his mouth and tried to focus on the movie, he smiled; thinking back on all those times he had been left in her care, all those times he had dreaded it and avoided it, made him realize just how blind the Muggle world made people. Mrs. Figg was a great person, despite her eccentricities, and Harry was slowly beginning to realize that she was an incredibly powerful witch, as well. Not that he couldn't hold his own, but having her nearby made him feel better, especially after what had happened at the culmination of the Triwizard Tournament. 

__

Voldemort . . .

Harry shook his head. _Best not to think about it. Best to try and be calm_.

He spent the rest of _Pride and Prejudice_, and twenty-nine more banana splits, not thinking about it.

************

"Turning in so soon?"

Harry looked up. Mrs. Figg's wrinkled face filled the doorway, glasses shining in the light from his lamp. 

He smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Not quite. I'm . . .you know . . ." he brandished the well-used quill in his hand, "writing letters. Trying to keep up my correspondence."

Mrs. Figg nodded knowingly. "I see." Her strange eyes twinkled merrily. "See that you tell little Sirius hello for me, then." Then she was gone, trailing a herd of cats in her wake.

Harry frowned. _Honestly, I wish powerful witches and wizards wouldn't flaunt their powers. It's very annoying._

Sighing, he bent his head and returned to his letter. There had been little word from Sirius since Harry had last seen him, near the end of the school year. He supposed his godfather was running errands for Professor Dumbledore, silently initiating the defense against Voldemort. Part of Harry wished he was out there with Sirius, running by moonlight, dodging danger, actively taking part in the war that was about to begin.

But another part, the part that was little more than a fourteen-year old boy, was very much content to remain beneath the quilt and focus on nothing but his penmanship.

He was telling Sirius about a recurring dream. It seemed like every time he wrote Sirius, he was talking about some dream or another. This one wasn't particularly menacing, just peculiar. It was a dream he'd had once or twice since returning from summer vacation. He never remembered it on waking, but flashes of it would come to him unbidden during the day, when his attention was wandering or he was terrifically bored. In the dream, a particular scene played over and over; Ron and Harry's desperate search for dates to the Yule Ball. There was a point when Ron finally decided that he should just go with Hermione and Harry should go with Ginny, for the sake of expedience. That conversation had actually happened, but in the dream, as opposed to reality, Harry wound up actually _going_ with Ginny. The details of the rest of the dream were always fuzzy. The one thing he recalled was that he felt happy at the end.

Harry wasn't sure why felt compelled to tell Sirius about it. All the same, he did.

Squinting in concentration, Harry added a few more lines to the letter, then signed his name with a flourish. Taking out his wand, he put an Anti-Smudging Charm on the parchment – a useful spell he had learned from Hermione – then folded it and got out of bed.

***********

Mrs. Figg's owlery consisted of a small shed in the garden, connected to the house by a covered walk. Hedwig, rather than being confined to her cage in Harry's room, had elected to stay in there. Harry was surprised to learn that Mrs. Figg had several owls of various shapes and sizes that she put to various uses, and not all of them had to do with mail delivery. Hedwig was glad of the company – Harry knew she usually got very bored during the summer – and he was glad to have her occupied. 

Harry entered the owlery, looking about for Hedwig. He had gone no farther than three steps when two owls that had obviously been lying in wait descended upon him. They fluttered about his head as if they enjoyed teasing him; Harry flapped his hands uselessly, trying to ward them off. It wasn't until Hedwig swooped righteously down upon them and scattered them left and right that Harry could stand up and see clearly.

One of the owls was an official courier from Hogwarts. The other was Hermes, Percy Weasley's owl. That was probably a letter from Ron, then, though why he hadn't used Pig Harry couldn't guess. 

Hedwig lighted on his shoulder and cuffed him with a wing, as if to remind him that he was being rude. Grunting, Harry soothed her by stroking her beak, then stepped forward to retrieve the two owls' letters. They relinquished them, then winged away together, heading off into the dark. 

Harry stared after them for a while. If he was being honest with himself, he would have realized that somewhere, deep in his heart, he was envious of the way they took to the air and flew off. He was envious, he realized, of their freedom. Of their ability to fly away.

__

Defeatist talk, Harry. Irresponsible talk. And yet . . . true?

He barely noticed when Hedwig took Sirius's letter without prompting and sailed off. Then, coming back to himself, he turned back to the house. Eleven pairs of owl eyes watched him go.

************

Mrs. Figg grimaced, knocking the ashes of a cigarette lightly into a glass tray shaped like a phoenix. She rarely smoked, but it seemed that moments of intense concentration caused her to reach for the pack. Harry found it strange that she smoked Muggle cigarettes – apparently, there were various brands of wizarding tobacco products that had much more interesting effects – but then, she was a strange person.

The old lady inhaled, coughing fitfully. Harry read the letter again, silently, to himself. He absently stroked a grey tabby that had found its way onto his lap.

A cloud of smoke enveloped the table. "Beauxbatons, huh?" Mrs. Figg said. "Been there once or twice. Don't much care for the place. Too sunny."

Harry gave her a bemused look. "Too sunny?"

She fixed him with a gimlet stare. "Too much sun is bad for the skin, Potter."

"So is smoking."

Mrs. Figg waved a hand dismissively. "Smoking's only bad for your lungs, Potter, and only then if you don't have the presence to put a Phog Philter Charm on yourself. Pretty piece of magic, that is; helped invent the spell myself, though it's not used much. Doubt many people know of it."

"I bet Hermione does," Harry said, almost without thinking.

Mrs. Figg gave him a long, hard look. "I'll just bet she does, Potter. I'll just bet she does."

Harry looked at Mrs. Figg for a moment, then returned his attention to the letter, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He wasn't sure what they were talking about, but it seemed to him that it didn't have anything to do with Hermione or Beauxbatons. Clearing his throat, he read one part of the letter out loud. " 'Professor Lupin has requested that you attend him as his assistant during these sessions, to help him with his seminars and provide him with what service he may need during his stay at Beauxbatons.'" Harry scratched his head in confusion. "I don't understand. Doesn't Madame Maxime know Professor Lupin is a werewolf?"

"I doubt it," Mrs. Figg replied, using her wand to light another cigarette. "Even if she did, it wouldn't matter. She's not running this show; she and Hagrid are still with the giants, from what I understand. No, Professor Dumbledore has actively taken charge of this summer camp, despite its being located at Beauxbatons, and of course," she said this with a snort, "he can handle Lupin's situation."

"What? You don't think he can?"

Mrs. Figg shrugged. "I make it a point never to underestimate Albus Dumbledore. All the same, he let the man get out of control at Hogwarts; who's to say the same thing won't happen at Beauxbatons?"

Harry fell silent at this, not sure how to respond. Mrs. Figg watched him for a moment, then cackled slightly. "Come on, Potter, lighten up. I'm just an old lady running her gob; don't pay too much attention to me. I'm sure Professor Lupin will be fine. Dumbledore values the man's ability to teach over the potential threat he represents to children."

"That's just it, though, isn't it?" Harry said. "Dumbledore's willing to take the chance that something will happen because he needs Professor Lupin's expertise." His eyes met Mrs. Figg's, and for a moment the emerald green flashed cold and steely. Almost like a snake. "If he's willing to take that risk, then there must be something pretty important about this summer camp. Something _I _certainly don't know about."

"If its answers you're looking for, Potter, then you better sniff another tree. I'm certainly not privy to all the details of Albus's machinations. Even if I was, you think I'd share them with you?"

"I think you'd warn me if I was headed into something dangerous."

Mrs. Figg stopped at that. An unreadable expression masked her face.

"You've been heading into something dangerous your entire life, Harry," she said, leaning forward, her voice suddenly soft and almost motherly. "One week in France isn't going to change that. And it's not going to make it go away."

Harry listened to her footfalls ascend the stairs, the muted pitter-patter of cat paws pounding rhythmically behind her. There was still smoke hanging over the table; Harry waved his hand, trying to disperse it, then gave up when the smoke started shaping itself into monkeys that clambered down his arm.

__

Guess those cigarettes weren't so normal after all.

Sitting there at the table, Harry wondered why he was feeling so strange. Maybe it was the sense of displacement; he had never been truly away from Hogwarts or the Dursleys, except for his extended visits at the Burrow. There, at least, he had Ron. Here, he had an old woman charged with his protection that seemed to enjoy pointing out the things about his life that he was starting to most resent. Always in danger, always threatened, always on the run from the rogue Bludger that wouldn't leave him alone. For eleven years of his life, he had been bored. For the past four years, the excitement had never stopped. 

Harry sometimes wondered if he would ever have a normal. If there would ever be an in-between. 

The thought of the Bludger brought Quidditch to mind. And with Quidditch, Cho. Beautiful, smart, and particularly unattainable, especially now that Cedric was dead. Harry hated himself for thinking it, but Cedric dead was a worse obstacle for him than Cedric alive. His memory hung over Cho like a shroud; there were times when Harry wondered what had existed between them. For the most part, though, he was content to be ignorant on that score.

In the smoky half-light of Mrs. Figg's kitchen, Harry lit up a cigarette. Even the girls in his life went to the extremes: Cho with her tragedy, Hermione with her intelligence, Ginny with her shyness . . .

__

Ginny?

Harry coughed brutally – wizard tobacco was a little too intense for him – and held up the second letter, the unopened one. It wasn't from Ron; it was from Ginny. Her name was messily scrawled on the envelope, obviously done in haste. He frowned, hoping that nothing was wrong, and started to open the letter.

When the kitchen fireplace exploded, Harry was flung backwards, the letter still clenched in his fist. The chair disappeared from beneath him as he hit the wall with a resounding _thud_, then crashed to the floor. China plates shattered to the tile all around him. Gasping for breath, Harry shoved the letter in his pocket and reached for his wand. He dimly heard himself shouting for Mrs. Figg as he tried to think of a spell that would clear away the smog of smoke and Floo powder obscuring his vision.

Mrs. Figg arrived on the scene in an instant, cats mewling in an angry herd at her feet. A grim expression on her face, she shouted something unintelligible, and the thick vapors in the kitchen roiled and vanished into her wand.

When Harry could clearly see, he didn't attack. He gaped, and dropped his wand.

The figure before them was covered in soot and Floo powder. Her clothes were torn, and her elbow was bleeding something fierce. Yet despite her bedraggled state, there was no mistaking her graceful carriage, her confident stance, or the shimmering white of her silken hair.

"Hello, Harry," Fleur Delacour said. "Eet eez nice to see you again."

End of Chapter

Next Time: A dinner party at the Grangers on the eve of the departure for Beauxbatons: who will reveal their feelings to whom?

Extended Author's Notes: Once again, I'd like to take this section to specifically thank those who were kind enough to give me feedback on the previous chapter! 

Lou: The different context was what truly got this story idea going. All we've seen of these characters' relationships happens at either Hogwarts or, in a more limited form, at the Burrow. But with a totally different setting and a strange group of people surrounding them, it these relationships might get the shove they need to become what we all want them to. Thanks for reading!

CurlsofGold: Much of the next chapter will be told from Ron's viewpoint; his reaction to Ginny's "bet" will most likely be referred to there. As for blushing faces . . .well, I can't promise you, but it's a safe bet that before long, SOMEONE will be turning red . . .

Lesa: Thanks for your input! My big concern is that I'm doing too much "building" and not enough "plot." But I'm a big fan of framed stories (plus that's what's been beaten into me by my professors), so I hope all this background doesn't turn many people off.

Iolo: Wow! I'm SO glad you liked! My biggest concern, actually, was the characterization. Your remarks put my fears to rest. As for more chapters, well . . .if people keep reviewing so wonderfully, you can be sure I'll continue, if only to please the masses . . .mwa ha ha . . .

Ronslilangel: Me? Write as well as J.K.? Wow . . .I'm officially on an ego trip now.

Rinabina: Hee hee hee . . . .now I know all I have to do to keep you reading is put Ron up there in the forefront of the story. I'm glad you think I'm writing him well . . .he's actually my favorite to write for!

Nightshadow: 'bops sister' Get thee hence and return to GW World! Thou hast no place here! Mwa ha ha . . .and no, I haven't written any more YGO, this is FAR more entertaining.

Tears from the Moon: Lol, yeah. Hermione as a student and Ron and Harry as assistants is kind of a humorous reversal, and it was completely unplanned. When I was writing that chapter, that little detail kind of came out of nowhere. I'm glad it did though; it sets the stage for some interesting conflict. Thanks for reading!

Angel St. James: Of COURSE Ginny has courage . . .it's just buried way down deep where you can't see it.

Jade Stellar: We are officially forming the FBA (Fluffy Build-up Association). Our goal: to give fluff everywhere more substance! Is this a hopeless mission? Probably. Will we persevere anyway? Well . . .

Hermione Starise: You're welcome for the review! And it continually surprises me that what draws people to this story is the originality; I would have thought someone would have done a 'summer camp' story before. Anywho, thanks for reading!

Soapbox for a generation: Mon ami! 'cringes away from rhino roar' Yes, well. If it's any consolation to you, THIS chapter had to be HEAVILY edited. Granted, it was also written at three in the morning, but you know how that goes. I'm glad you found the story again . . .your reviews bring me much joy! P.S. I'm at University of Central Florida, not Florida University. Confusing distinction? You bet. _Important_ distinction? I'd say so. Go Knights! www.ucf.edu

Thanks again to all! Next chapter in a few days, me promises! TTFN!


End file.
